Ticky Dicky nearly shook in frustration. He took a few deep breaths in and out, luckily calming himself enough before he felt Cum Test Dummy’s fingers rubbing across his back. He shook her off—better to deter her than to scold, after all—and continued to pace back and forth.

 

 

 

“I captured them! I did it!” Five Angry Inches waved proudly from across the street, and Ticky Dicky sighed with relief. He was a good lad, Ticky Dicky thought, although occasionally he had to be directed back on task. Still, the kids loved him, especially when he entertained Humpy Slowcum and Sir Menage a Lot with airplane noises. And he was good at tracking down the ones who someone managed to slip through the cracks.

 

 

 

Ticky Dicky shook his head ruefully—the state inspectors were going to be by at any minute, and Do Her Well had dragged Just Doesn’t Get It out past the fences. They had been right in the middle of Three Finger’s birthday party, and One Night Only had blown out his candles, leading to an uproar. In a blink of an eye they were gone, and One and Done, Dickweed, Wee Wee, and the rest of the crew were chasing out after them.  

 

 

 

Even worse, he was pretty sure the entire adventure had been documented by Dick Simmons on Facebook—thank god most of the state officials were old sticks in the mud who couldn’t tell the difference between a blog, Snapchat, and a Linkedin account. Fuck Buddy flipping them the bird would have been one strike, while Good Shit’s special show and Millimeter Peter’s rampant parade would have been two and three.

 

 

 

He’d sent Can’t Rush Anal out to Buena Vista, but they were at Mount Olympus by then, and when Mouth Down South had reached Kite Hill, there was already a tweet from Bierectional that they had reached Mount Davidson (which, as Fix Her Up Her had soon informed him, was an out and out lie). But even when Five Angry Inches had somehow rounded them up within a half mile of the house, they were still a bona fide mess. Asian Pissuasion had decided to drink out of his shoe, E=MC You’re An Idiot was teaching Orie-anal Express a few new terms for butthole, and Yiff Yiff Hurray and Bush and A Rack had somehow picked up two of the newly admitted patients to the home and given them a tour of the city. Tuna on Top had barely gotten them all appropriately clothed and back inside when a firm knock resounded from the front door.

 

 

 

“Yes?” Ticky Dicky arched an eyebrow as he opened it warily.

 

 

 

“We’re from the Department of Child Welfare,” announced a lady with a clipboard. Her nametag read ‘Chicken Bone Her’ and her face meant business.

 

 

 

“Yeah, we’re here to make sure you’re not diddling the kids,” added her assistant, whose badge read ‘Muff Daddy’ in blue crayon.

 

 

 

“Have you seen them?” asked Ticky Dicky, before he could help himself. They all looked backwards into the house. Dick First Ass Up was trying on his sweater as a pair of pants, and Tongueless’s Penis had made a toga out of a shower curtain.

 

 

 

“We also have on the list ‘no child labor’ and ‘no medical experimentation,’” added Muff Daddy. “Oh, and ‘no playing the stock market/entrepreneurship/housing purchases’—don’t want to drive up the cost of living anymore around here, you know.”

 

 

 

“Well, we don’t have any of that,” Ticky Dicky assured him. “Chicken Bone Her, would you like to see anything else?”

 

 

 

“Aww, who’s a sweetheart? Who’s my little man? Will you do your special dance, buddy?” Douchicorn chose just that moment to come over and fondle Ticky Dicky behind the ears. “Well, whaddaya say—will you?”

 

 

 

Ticky Dicky stood speechless as Chicken Bone Her and Muff Daddy just looked at him. Douchicorn’s mouth began to tremble just the slightest bit. Ticky Dicky sighed, and shuffled his feet slightly.

 

 

 

Cockamole giggled, and Banana in Public applauded along with CPA. A crowd started to gather, Udder Moron dragging Cuming Mutha alongside him.

 

 

 

“Again, again!” called out Wrinklepecker, and Ticky Dicky relented and gave them a five minute show.

 

 

 

“You seem to really love these kids,” remarked Chicken Bone Her. “But may I make a recommendation?”

 

 

 

Ticky Dicky waited, cringing internally.

 

 

 

“There’s a great discount on Racer 5—that’ll shut the little fuckers up.” She nodded sagely and turned to go out the door. “See you next year!”